Song beneath the Earth
by BloodofDurin
Summary: Soul mates are rare, and the Song is even more so. After 1,000 years Eric hears his own Song for the first time, signalling the arrival of a new Nest and with it, the voice that sings in his dreams. Eric/OC Rated M for language and future adult themes. Does not follow canon (completely new authority members and ignoring the 'Lilith' plot line) First attempt at True Blood FanFic.
1. Chapter 1

It began with an itch beneath the skin, as if thousands of tiny creatures skimmed across the muscle and sinew of the whole body, changing the cold and quiet blood of the veins into a ticking time bomb. It would happen slowly at first, the bleeds being a particularly nasty part of forgoing rest after dawn breaks, but after that it would make the body weaker – vulnerable.

Eric slowly turned his head, eyes quickly alighting upon his progeny – his child, Pam. She did not need him to speak, nodding once in acknowledgement of his silent request, and promptly began ushering the last lumbering, drunken blood-bags out of the door. He was in no mood to treat with them tonight, and she knew it. Pam had an ability to sense his darker moods, and if they were to remain here comfortably for a prolonged period of time, he would need to keep these moods to himself as much as possible.

At least, that's what she tells him.

They had half an hour until dawn, judging by the feel of his body. And he trusted his body above anything and anyone on earth. Even Pam, with her blind devotion and utter commitment to him, was a liability. Hard as it was sometimes to picture her as human, body warm and pulsating with life as the first time he had seen her face, she still possessed a few very human weaknesses. Her blind devotion was one of them…it made her lose her highly valued common sense.

He noticed her approach once the bar had been closed and locked, though he did not look up.

'Go to ground,' he said, hoarsely. Hours had passed since he had moved, let alone spoken, and he had to clear his throat before adding, 'I will be down shortly.'

Pam folded her arms, 'Eric, listen to me. What has gotten into you?' Her words were lower, quieter than usual. This was a speech solely for his benefit, something private between the two of them. 'Never once in one hundred years have you cared about hearing it for yourself, so why now? What changed?'

Questions irritated him at the best of times, and coupled with his sombre mood the effect was instant. Pam realised that all too late, however.

'Enough!' he hissed. The blue irises of his eyes became chilling in that moment, dangerous even. When a human was on the receiving end of such a look, it reminded them of exactly _what_ he was. Death. Inhuman. _Vampire_. 'You are old enough to know what it is, Pamela, but still too young to _long_ for it!'

Blood pooled at the corners of her eyes, and she took a step back towards their personal exit door. He hated it when she cried, it was not this side of her that he loved…loved enough to bind her to him for ever. Fierce and strong, that was Pam, but it was too late to amend it now.

Her attachment was stronger than ever, and with each passing year, she got a few degrees warmer.

She spoke as the first drop of blood escaped her eyes, 'I don't _want_ to hear it. I have no reason to. It's a ridiculous concept anyway. How many other supernatural beings do you know that hear a _song _in their dreams, to find a so-called 'soul mate'? Love is overrated, _pointless!'_ she sobbed, as she threw his own words back at him. They were centuries old, yet he could still remember saying them to her. She took a steadying breath, 'We do not love. That is what you taught me.'

And he had believed it to be true, until now.

It had shattered his illusions of vampire life when he had first witnessed Bill Compton and Sookie Stackhouse together, always looking over their shoulders, never happy until they were within touching distance. Never before had he seen a vampire risk so much, for something so temporary – fleeting in the greater scheme of things. Compton had to know that Sookie would grow old, would get sick and die. The span of her life was nothing in comparison to the eternity Bill would have to then spend without her.

And yet, despite knowing what lay in wait for them both, they carried on fighting; ferociously, desperately, as each of them struggled to make their relationship lasting and _worth it all_.

He looked at Pam standing there, stubbornly ignoring his obvious wish to be alone in order to pull him out of his misery. That was love as well, he supposed. Not the same love that Bill felt for Sookie, it was not like that with her any more, and it made him think of his family from before. How good it had felt to destroy Russell Edgington in revenge for their murders. That was how Pam felt when she thought of him. It had been enough as well, that familial bond, but even that had lost its potency.

The itch beneath his skin became more intense, to the point where it actually became uncomfortable to sit for much longer. He needed to go to ground; he needed to sleep, if only to stop himself from thinking.

Pam did not move when he shot towards her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She visibly relaxed, and looked up into his eyes questioningly.

'I was wrong,' he said after a moment. He thought quickly, assessing the consequences of telling her what he had learned. It was common knowledge among their kind that vampires heard music, a voice and a melody in their dreams when their 'soul mate' was within their midst. However, not one of those people lucky enough to hear it had ever revealed what it felt like. It was a risk, but she would never have to know the truth behind it. He sighed softly, 'It is rare that any one of us will hear the song, you know this, but what is not common knowledge is that Bill Compton has heard his.'

Pam raised a perfect eyebrow, 'And now you feel left out? _Please. _Can you imagine waiting centuries to hear this ridiculous song, only to find that it belongs to a bar maid in Bon Temps? How disappointing.'

'That is not the point,' Eric ground out, his patience becoming very thin as a buzzing sound began to fill his ears. They had ten minutes left, 'The music, the voice you hear in your dreams, it's supposed to be the most beautiful thing imaginable. You are never the same again once you hear it, no matter who, or what you have become.'

He shivered as blood began to drip from his nose, and when he felt a sharp tug on his hand, he did not fight back.

Pam remained silent as they descended into the vault beneath Fangtasia, the darkness like a balm against the heat that had begun to build in his veins. His coffin was welcoming as he lay down, cushioning his head on the soft, velvet pillow. The sleep was taking him already, and just before he slammed the lid back over himself, one voice reached him through the mist and fog inside his mind.

'Eric?' asked Pam, from a meter away in the far left corner of the vault. Her voice was quivering once more, and he knew that the blood would be streaming down her cheeks as she asked, 'I don't care what you do, or _who_ for that matter. But please, don't release me.'

'That is not my intention.'

A resounding bang signalled that the lid of his coffin had closed, cutting him off from the world. Something stirred in his chest when Pam had made her request, something akin to panic. She was his child, nothing would ever change that. Not even the voice in his song.

Because Eric _had_ a song, however distant it may be. A haunting, wailing, melancholic song that sent images of crashing waves and large wooden halls to assault his mind's eye. It was getting closer every day, louder and more vivid as the source approached him. He had kept it carefully locked away inside his head from the first moment the vibrations of sound had reached him

They would be here soon. Nothing was more certain.


	2. Chapter 2

_Yfir inn lǫgr ek koma, ek koma. Sǫngr inn vágr eða bjarg at ek nefna heim. Inn landlaufgroenn hvar inn marr is kald, ek munu finna þú, Sǫngr af minn sal._

His body shivered suddenly, and the song faded until the words were nothing but shadows of memory in the back of his mind. Annoyingly, he could feel the crisp remains of blood on his face, running into his scalp – he had been weak _again_.

Pushing at the lid of his coffin, Eric sat up and looked across to find that Pam had already gone up to open the bar. It was just as well, really. If she had seen him like this there would have been no avoiding her questions, and she was perceptive. Pam would work it out, and he would rather no one knew. The longing still ached in his chest, souring his mood again, and he wondered how long this feeling would last. Why did the song make him feel so much pain? It was clear as a whistle in his mind now, which meant the voice of his song was here – somewhere close.

He closed his eyes, thinking hard, wracking his long dead brain for any traces of the words he had heard. The melody was sad, as if whoever sung it had lost something, but the words…the words were mere shadows.

His body shivered again and he sensed fear, _Pam's_ fear.

It was moments before he reached the bar and his teeth shifted, stretching his gums until his fangs descended from beneath the skin. He loved the feeling of the sharp points breaking the skin, the sharp sting of pain that made his mouth water, it made him want to bite something.

Pam's face was a mask of cold indifference as she stood facing five vampires, all dressed in black. Their guns were loaded with wooden bullets, tipped with silver of course, and the one in the middle was asking something.

'What can we do for you this evening,' he asked, forcing his fangs back. It would not do to piss these people off, not after the recent trouble he – along with Bill Compton – had caused them.

The woman turned to him, 'Mr Northman, you have been summoned by the authority to a meeting. We are to escort you there immediately.'

He glanced quickly at his progeny, 'Of course, though I ask that you leave Pam out of this. Anything she has done has been on my orders.'

She looked ready to interject, but a slight twitch of his hand in her direction shut her up. He had no idea what this was about, but it must be something big. The woman in the black jumpsuit shook her head, 'Your progeny is not required, and as far as we can see, you have done nothing to warrant an arrest. This is just a meeting, Mr Northman. Or have you killed anyone else?'

He smirked, 'Happily, I have not. I've managed to restrain myself so far.'

'Good,' she replied. Taking out her mobile phone, the woman dialled a number and spoke quickly to the person on the other end. Turning her back to him.

Eric took this opportunity to grab Pam and pull her a little further from the gunmen, 'Stay here, open as usual – do not let them see that anything is wrong.'

'But what is this about? What have you done?'

'Nothing!'

'Eric, I don't like this.' Her eyes travelled to the authority member, burning a hole into the back of her head. 'What if they plan to punish you for staking Russell?'

'They wanted him dead, Pam. I just carried it out for them,' he said, keeping his voice low. 'I have a less-than-sparkling track record with them as it stands, it would stand to reason that if they wanted something doing, they would send someone that owed them.'

The authority woman snapped the lid of her phone shut, and turned to watch them with her arms folded. Sighing, he placed a light kiss onto Pam's forehead, before turning and walking towards the group. He could still feel her fear, as well as her eyes on the back of his head as he walked away from her, but he fought to ignore it and smiled pleasantly at the woman as she led the way out of Fangtasia.

It was still early, so the parking lot was empty apart from the company cars, one of which he was led into, followed by the woman. She seemed nervous and fidgety, tapping her fingernails on the plastic of the door, until they had pulled away from the bar and out onto the main road.

Eric waited until they had been travelling for a half hour, before he turned to look at his companion.

'So tell me, what is it they want me to do for them this time?'

The woman looked at him strangely, as if she had forgotten his existence in the seat next to her, but she recovered herself quickly and gave him a half smile, 'There has been news of a particularly astonishing nature. I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars with you myself, but suffice to say there needs to be a lot of research done on it. Do not worry though; you will not have to handle it alone. Your partner in crime will be accompanying you.'

He nodded and looked away. So, Bill had not escaped a summons either. This was definitely some form of further punishment for their inconvenience, which meant that their task was probably liable to get them both killed. Excellent.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, other than the constant tapping of the woman's nails. He observed her tense posture and twitchy eye movements the moment he took the time to properly look at her, as well as the way she kept checking her watch. What news had been discovered, he wondered? Another coven of witches? A dangerous pack of werewolves? The tooth-fairy?

As they drove along the long driveway, past numerous guards wearing the same ugly black jumpsuits, Eric felt something stirring in his mind. The closer they got to the large mansion house, the more solid it became, the tendrils of memory linking, fusing together as if a missing piece of jigsaw had been found and fitted at last. It was the same feeling you get when, after spending a whole night without remembering a dream from the day before, you lay back down in the dark and a sudden flash of memory brings you back to how you felt in that dream.

It was happening now, just as they pulled up outside the authority headquarters. His foot touched the gravel of the road as he climbed out of the vehicle and something sparked behind his eyes, notes of a song that rose and fell like the waves of the sea, and then words. _ek munu finna þú, Sǫngr af minn sal._

Old Norse, a language gone from the world but not from _him_. His mother tongue, the tongue of the Vikings of Bjornstad, his people.

'Mr Northman, we are expected.'

The woman's voice sliced through his recollections, bringing him back to the present. He had frozen in place in front of the car door, eyes wide and fixed on nowhere in particular as he forced calm onto himself. Now was not the time. It was dangerous to lose yourself here, he must not forget the task he was about to be given.

'Apologies,' he said, closing the car door behind him and stepping forward. 'Please, lead on.'

Guards accompanied them as they entered the house and into a grand entrance hall, with marble floors and a winding staircase leading up into suits of rooms. They did not make for the stairs though; the woman bypassed those and headed for a door to the right where the meeting was taking place. Eric spotted Bill the moment he entered, sitting on the dark velvet sofa, face stony and eyes hard as they looked at each other. There was definitely no love lost between them.

'Mr Northman,' said the newly elected head of the authority, Louis Baudin. Baudin was younger than Eric, but not by much – and was obviously gifted with friends in high places, judging by his shock rise to such a revered position. He was tall and lean, with long dark hair and black eyes, reminding him of an insect at first glance. Baudin gestured to the sofa opposite Bill, 'Please, do sit down.'

Eric inclined his head, and did as he was told. There were no other council members present, and as he took his seat he met Bill's eyes, exchanging a look of concern. A meeting without the other council members present told him that their conversation was off the grid, a secret, and it only heightened his sense of anxiety.

Baudin waved his hands in the direction of the guards, who left and closed the door behind them, leaving the three of them alone. Baudin smiled, 'Well, first of all, thank you for coming.' He looked at each of them in turn, beetle-like eyes glittering in the low light from the lamps. 'I am sorry if I caused either of you any worry, but I could not risk waiting a moment longer before calling you. Time is of the essence, gentlemen. So, let's begin.'

Eric watched as Baudin took a sip from his glass, the blood smelling fresh and rich with the scent of walnuts, like how an old wine would smell after years in the same oaky barrel. His head was swimming with the scent of it, having been unable to feed yet thanks to his summons, and he could feel his fangs itching to burst through his gums again.

Baudin swallowed his mouthful, 'Just before dawn broke yesterday, I received a visitor. Or shall I say a group of visitors, looking very much worse for wear.' A single, solitary note rang out inside Eric's skull, causing him to go rigid as he desperately tried to pinpoint it. They were here in this house, the voice of his song. Bill was watching him from the corner of his eye, yet Baudin seemed blissfully unaware as he ploughed on, 'A woman and three men travelling alone, moving from place to place so that their feeding habits went undetected, searching for someone who would help them. I would have turned them back as they are not my responsibility, but they cleverly brought information with them – very valuable, very intriguing information.'

'Where do they originate from?' asked Bill, turning his attention back to Baudin. Eric pushed the musical note in his head aside, unable to track it down as well as being wary of his being detected.

Baudin smiled again, 'Ah, now this is where it gets interesting. The group originate from the north of England, specifically a small sea-side town called Whitby. You might recognise it as one of the locations from Stoker's only novel. Terribly boring book in my opinion.'

Eric turned his eyes toward the head of the authority, 'I have heard of it. The bigger question is why they did not turn to their own authority with their troubles. Why travel all this way?'

'Good question,' he replied, nodding in acknowledgement. 'The simple answer is that their own authority is what caused their troubles in the first place, or so she says. The woman's sister, a miss Adelaide Castor, was murdered by the British authority in order to keep what I am about to tell you quiet. Estelle, the leader of this nest and sister of the unfortunate victim, seeks revenge in return for the information.'

'And what information is that?' Asked Bill, causing Eric to wince at the tone of annoyance evident in his voice. One hundred and forty years old and still unable to exercise patience, no better than his seventeen year old progeny.

Baudin laughed it off however, 'I'm glad to find you so keen, Mr Compton. Well, let me be frank. Estelle claims that the British authority has found a means to day walk, without the need for fairy _blood_ so to speak.'

The room descended into silence then, and Eric found himself truly shocked not for the first time in the past week. Day walking without fairy blood was, to his knowledge, impossible – but then why would the British authority resort to murder if there was nothing in it? Clearly there was something going on, and he was beginning to see where he and Bill came into the equation.

'Did this woman say what, if not the blood, will enable this supposed accomplishment?'

Baudin rose to his feet, 'She did not, claiming it is in order to make sure I fulfil my part of the bargain. It is too risky to send a lot of vampires over there, and it may all turn out to be false, but I want to know the truth of it.' He walked over to the window, face illuminated by the high moon, and clasped his hands behind his back tightly. 'Rumour has it that you're both a pain in the authority's arse, and are both in need of an assignment to make amends. I am giving you this chance now. Go to England with this woman and her nest, and if it' true, I want it brought back here. Whatever it is.'

Eric observed Bills reactions to this, noticing the anger in his posture as well as the sharp, pointed ends of his fangs poking from between his lips. Leaving would put Sookie in danger, but no more so than if he stayed – Baudin was 'offering them a chance to make amends' in words only. This was a command, and neither of them could argue against it.

'What of the revenge? Do you expect us to murder the British authority?' asked Eric, speaking only so Bill did not have a chance to voice his unwelcome opinions. 'We would be outnumbered and outmatched. Their leaders could be older than I am.'

'Oh I'm sure they are, what with the wonderfully bloody history those English fellows have enjoyed for thousands of years,' said Baudin offhandedly. 'As to the revenge, do what you can to appease her. And if anyone asks, the US authority has nothing to do with it. I would not enjoy a retaliation if they were to suspect I had sent you to kill them.'

Godric had been the oldest Vampire he had ever known, but it was possible there were others the same age, or older, hidden away from the worlds view. Killing them was out of the question, he only hoped that this Estelle had other ideas of revenge.

'As you command,' he said, rising to his feet. He looked at Bill, raising his eyebrow which eliciting a low growl and burning glare from his companion.

Bill stood slowly, 'As you command,' he ground out.

Baudin turned, sickly smile back on his face and his beetle eyes shining with glee.

'Excellent!' he beamed, moving towards them in a flash. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders and guided them back towards the double doors. 'My guard will lead you to your rooms, and you will each be provided with a human of your choice, you need only ring the bell. Sleep well gentlemen, by nightfall tomorrow I will introduce you to our foreign guests before you are sent on your way. Remember what I said here tonight, I want no trouble to come of this, so make it quick and painless for me. If you mess it up, there will be consequences.'

When the doors opened a guard stepped forward, leading each of them up the staircase. Bill was fuming, stomping up the stairs like a petulant child, and it was hard for Eric to conceal his amusement. At the top of the landing Bill was led to the left, while Eric was escorted to the right, making their rooms as far from each other as possible. The door to his room was open when he arrived and, after stepping inside, the door was slammed closed behind him to reveal a panel of sterling silver – with no handle.

He chuckled at Baudin's obvious paranoia, and cast his eyes around the room. It was large and ornate like most of the house, with no windows or means of ventilation at all. Since breathing was optional for him anyway, this was not a concern, though it did mean he would miss out on the spectacular views over the grounds.

The humming of blood in his veins, as well as the barely-there prickle of his skin told him that it was a little past one in the morning, the sun would not rise for another four hours at least, which left him to do what he had wanted to do since arriving at the front door. He climbe onto the bed and closed his eyes, concentrating on the gentle rise and fall of his chest as the oxygen whooshed in an out of his lungs.

Slowly, it lulled him into a state of relaxation, of openness, and it was then that the song returned. Quietly at first, words no more than a whisper, until he fell deeper and deeper into his calm state and the waves of sound reached him a little more clearly. Deeper and deeper he fell, forgetting Baudin and his assignment, forgetting Bill and his anger, pushing them back and back and back until they were gone for the moment. The images were coming now, sharper and more defined than they had ever been, waves crashing on jagged rocks and a grey stormy sky. It was like one of his early memories as a child, except infused with the song he had heard just before he'd risen that night. He whispered the words as he heard them, drawing them out until he matched the dulcet sound he had been hearing in his head for the past week:

_Yfir inn lǫgr ek koma, ek koma. Sǫngr inn vágr eða bjarg at ek nefna heim. Inn landlaufgroenn hvar inn marr is kald, ek munu finna þú, Sǫngr af minn sal._

**I did some basic research of the Old Norse language to create Eric's song, which is what I'm guessing he would have spoken in his human life. It is entirely made up from the words I could find, no part of it is a reproduction, and the translation as as follows:**

**_'Across the water I come, come singing of the wave and rock that I call home. In a land leaf-green where the sea is cold I will find you; song of my soul.'_**


End file.
